Monthly Archives: March 2015

I’d planned (threatened) to live Tweet this morning’s medical procedure that Dave Barry refers to as A HORRIBLE THING. I still wonder how many would have tuned-in for that play-by-play.

So I’ll re-create that for you now. I’m pretty sure this is how it would have gone.

9:45 a.m. – My appointment in the GI/Endoscopy unit at University Hospital was at 9. Waiting 45 minutes after the previous 12 hours of “prep” is inexcusable. I tell the sign-in desk person that I’m nauseous and uncomfortable. I’m admitted by an RN, Martha.

10:05 a.m. – Erika and Megan are awesome. I fall asleep – not from the nausea meds, but from my typical reverse anxiety mode that kicks in at times like this. My blood pressure is something like 100/70. Chillaxed. (Oh, and a warm blanky from Martha).

11:10 a.m. – A young doc introduces herself as I wake up. I’m thinking the procedure must be over. She asks me if I’m excited for my first colonoscopy. My restrained response probably indicates that I am not. She tells me that the second half of the “prep” is the worst part. That I agree with. The young doc asks me what procedure I’m getting. I’m half-tempted to tell her something bizarre, then I remember that, in my estimation, a colonoscopy is fairly bizarre. She goes over the risks and a few details of the procedure. I sign a consent form. She tells me it won’t be long.

11:40 a.m. – An RN, I think her name is Debbie C., wheels my bed into another room where the young doc awaits. Another nurse/tech person (sorry, I wasn’t keeping notes) dons rubber gloves and has me turn onto my left side and pull up my right knee. I tell the med folks that I don’t bend very well. Never did. Nurse Debbie says it’s fine. She’s holding two or three thick syringes and I ask her when I’m getting the happy juice. “As soon as the doctor says we’re starting.” To be as well-informed as I can be, I ask what’s in the syringes. She tells me fentanyl. I’ve heard of this stuff. I think we’ll get along just fine.

11:45 a.m. – A second doc comes in and introduces himself. He tells nurse Debbie to begin and she begins administering the first big dose of fentanyl into the IV port on my right arm. As the drug goes into my vein, I asd erjlkj eoir and start to feel a dj elkjr ad d sdaijmj did i tell you the one about the elephant and the clown that cdwqe lkjd fdsaef. there is a bog huh i meant to say fog did you see that penguin but anyway i see a screen and the doc mumbles something about xdf l;kj;wer jkljdf er ferlug medilei byeice butterflies lincikme skerdrocrumlkj there and right there. ther’s blieab arkable baby unicorns schtingle ploratimum.

1:30 p.m. – I wake up in the recovery room. The end.

In conclusion: Absolutely amazing nursing staff. And the docs were so amazing that I hardly noticed them. (See: fentanyl).

Most of all, my awesome youngest daughter, Natasha Myrick, who took me – and came back for me. Then spent the afternoon with me at home while I returned to a state of semi-consciousness. Natasha’s awesome heart is a warm blanket.